


Dressing Down

by Euterpein



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale is "just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing" (Good Omens), Crowley is a Mess (Good Omens), Dancing, Dresses, Enthusiastic Consent, F/F, Getting Together, Harold They're Lesbians Meme, Ineffable Wives | Female Aziraphale/Female Crowley (Good Omens), Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Paris (City), Porn with Feelings, Post-Canon, Seduction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:46:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27158155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Euterpein/pseuds/Euterpein
Summary: Crowley was currently in the process of regretting every life decision she had ever made.Considering that she had had over six thousand years of life under her (proverbial) belt, and that she had spent most of them making some kind of bad decision or another, there was quite a lot for her to stew over.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 32
Collections: Ineffable Wives Exchange 2020





	Dressing Down

**Author's Note:**

  * For [meinposhbastard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/meinposhbastard/gifts).



> This was written for the Ineffable Wives server's 2020 fic and art exchange! I hope you enjoy it, Meinposhbastard!

Crowley was currently in the process of regretting every life decision she had ever made. 

Considering that she had had over six thousand years of life under her (proverbial) belt, and that she had spent most of them making some kind of bad decision or another, there was quite a lot for her to stew over. 

It had all started on the wall. Oh, sure, it had started long _before_ the wall, had started with Creation and with The Order of Things and with _questions_ , but the particular series of bad decisions that had led her to _this moment_ had started on the wall, in Eden. It had started when she had seen her angel up there upon the stone, guarding.

_Glowing._

She was certainly glowing now. Not in any way the humans surrounding her could perceive, of course. Hers was a muted Grace, a diffuse sort of ethereal light that a person could feel in their heart but not see with their eyes, a field of holiness spread out about her that drew humans in like moths to the flame. Not only humans, if Crowley were honest [1], but that was her own cross to bear. Or something. 

In this particular moment, Aziraphale was surrounded by humans because she had managed to convince Crowley to bring her to Paris for an annual rare books conference. Because of _course_ she had. She could very easily have gone herself, could have told Crowley that she would be away for a few days and popped over to Paris on her own. Crowley would have grumbled something about not being her keeper and not caring about where she swanned off to. She would then have proceeded to spend every single day of her angel’s absence sulking alone in her flat, but Aziraphale didn’t need to know that. It’s exactly what would have happened in the days before the apocalypse didn’t happen.

Of course, these were not those days. The apocalypse had come and gone almost a year ago now, and the times had changed with them. Crowley and Aziraphale had spent nearly every day of those months together, barring the times that Crowley slept through her alarm for a week or two, or the times that Aziraphale got so absorbed into the particulars of a certain tome she’d begun to gather dust[2]. They’d had lunches and dinners and desserts at all sorts of places ranging from the exquisite to the hole-in-the-wall. They’d whiled away the hours in the bookshop, in St. James’ Park, even in Crowley’s flat on occasion. They’d even gone flying together on one memorable occasion.

Despite all that, Aziraphale could still have taken off to the conference on her own if she’d wanted to. It would have broken the newly established pattern of their days, sure, but it’s not as though there was anything _formalised_ about what they’d been doing. They’d made no commitment to see each other a certain amount or on any particular schedule. It just sort of... _happened_. One of them always showed up with a delicacy or a bottle of something drinkable, plans would always coalesce around a restaurant or an apéritif. 

It was as if to actually _talk_ about it would have broken whatever spell they’d been under that had allowed them to continue. The habits of millennia were difficult to break. The constancy of acting but not speaking their actions into words was ingrained deeply into them, as that which was spoken could and would have been used against them. Not a word of the whole affair had passed their lips, not in all the endless conversations they had shared in the past year. And not for lack of wanting.

On Crowley’s end, at least, it had been entirely for lack of nerve. Part of her knew that most of her fear was unfounded; Heaven and Hell had made it quite clear that they wouldn’t be coming near the pair of them with a ten-million-lightyear pole. They would neither notice nor care if she told Aziraphale how much she wanted to spend time with her, if she showed her the pictures of the little cottages in the South Downs she’d been obsessing over for much longer than she cared to admit. There was only one entity who might care about the whole thing apart from the two of them, and Crowley suspected that if She cared She would have made Her displeasure known long before now. 

No, the real trouble lay in the _other_ source of her fear, the one she wouldn’t have admitted to under threat of discorporation. She was afraid that, if she told Aziraphale the truth, she would lose her forever. 

She knew such a thing wasn’t likely. She _knew_ she was being ridiculous. Crowley had been watching Aziraphale for the better part of six thousand years; she knew her better than she knew herself. Every expression, every desire of Aziraphale’s was etched permanently on her heart, and she knew that Aziraphale cared for her. Loved her, even, though the thought of it had a tendency to make her lightheaded. And yet...

And _yet_ , Aziraphale hadn’t said anything either. She had stepped right into the same dance that Crowley had, acting the caller and the hostess, never speaking up to formalize any sort of new Arrangement in whatever form that might take. This stupid bloody conference, for example. She could have just told Crowley that she would be away for a few days. She could have simply asked Crowley to come with her, and Crowley would have said “yes” in an instant, would have followed her anywhere.

But Aziraphale hadn’t asked. Instead, she had batted those pretty eyelashes of hers at Crowley. She had lamented how _awful_ travel had become nowadays, how _beastly_ it was that no-one ever wanted to have a pleasant chat on the train anymore[3]. She mourned the inevitable truth that the conference would be so _uninteresting_ in comparison to the soirees of the past, pulling out a laundry list of examples that all happened to have been gatherings they had attended together, usually ones where Crowley had made a show of herself in one way or another. She had asked without actually _asking_ , and Crowley had answered without needing to hear the words.

Crowley had dared to wonder, more than once, if Aziraphale asked for things this way for the same reasons that Crowley answered the way she did. She wondered if Aziraphale had pulled her little charade of travel complaints because she was afraid that if she were to speak the words plainly, the answer would inexplicably be “no.”

The wondering had been enough to keep Crowley distracted for most of the trip. She had listened rather absentmindedly to Aziraphale’s twittering[4] throughout the train ride without really taking much of it in, more focused on studying the lines of the angel’s face as though she hadn’t memorized them aeons ago. It had kept her distracted as Aziraphale had dragged her around the city and into seemingly every little café and patisserie they had encountered. She had also _apparently_ been distracted as Aziraphale had filled her arms with shopping bags from the various posh boutiques scattered around the world’s most fashionable city, citing the need for something sufficiently fancy wear to the conference’s opening party that evening.

_Apparently_ because, if Crowley had been paying any sort of attention, she might have seen her current situation coming. Because it wasn’t the coming to Paris and the bloody conference with Aziraphale that was making her regret all her life decisions, oh no. 

It was the fact that the dress that Aziraphale had chosen for the evening was, in a word, _stunning_.

Crowley was used to seeing Aziraphale in all sorts of finery, of course. She had always been an aristocratic little thing with a taste for decadence, no matter how much she might have argued otherwise, and had often sought out the cream of the crop to adorn herself with. Usually, though, the pieces were a little more... _modest_ than the number she’d chosen for the evening. 

The dress itself was a surprisingly fashionable blend of modern and established styles. It consisted of a delicately off-white slip that nipped in at the waist and cut itself off just above the knee, hugging every single generous curve of the angel’s body in the process and dipping down low enough to show off the tantalising swell of her bosom. Over the slip was a gauzy chiffon silk of a similar cream colour, pricked out with gold embroidery in intricate lines and rosette patterns that reminded Crowley strongly of the height of the Art Nouveau movement, though of course the colours were all off for the comparison to be perfect. It also had an open back that plunged to nearly the lowest dip of Aziraphale’s spine, a fact that did not help to steady Crowley’s frayed nerves.

She looked like thing a person meant when they said “I saw an angel in my dreams last night.” She certainly looked right out of _Crowley_ ’ _s_ dreams, dripping with gold and with posture relaxed, laughing at something one of the humans that had been drawn to her had said. 

Crowley had to suppress a growl when she saw that. She had entrenched herself at the bar of the antique hotel the party was taking place in, watching Aziraphale dazzle the room as Crowley sipped on however many drinks she could convince the bartender to give her[5]. Aziraphale had seemed confused and even a little hurt when Crowley had excused herself, muttering something about needing a breather, but it had all just been too _much_. Aziraphale was too gorgeous in that dress. Too _tempting_. Every time she turned her big, blue eyes on Crowley, or laid her hand delicately on Crowley’s arm as she laughed at something that she’d said, Crowley had felt her composure crack a little bit more. The need to touch Aziraphale, to _kiss_ her, was much too close to the surface. Crowley wouldn’t make the mistake of trying to push for _more_ , not if it came at the risk of losing what she already had.

She warred with that decision as she watched Aziraphale now, surrounded by humans. They had closed in around her in the vacuum that was Crowley’s absence. Their eyes glittered in Aziraphale’s glow, soaking it in, eagerly seeking the warmth and comfort she spilt out around her. It made an ugly, twisted feeling squirm in Crowley’s belly. 

She swallowed the last of the drink in her hand and signalled the bartender for another.

The orchestra that had been playing quietly in one corner of the wide space let the piece they’d been playing come to its natural end, then struck up a rather more lively tune that had caused people to start turning towards the dance floor. Crowley was just debating the merits of using a miracle to get them to play “Pale Blue Eyes” and seeing how long it took anybody to notice[6] when she startled slightly at the touch of a hand at her elbow. She spun around and saw Aziraphale standing next to her, a nervous smile playing around her mouth.

“I’m terribly sorry, my dear. I know you needed a bit of a breather, but I was wondering if you might...?” She trailed off, letting her eyes settle wistfully on the dance floor, where people were now making elegant circles around the floor to the rhythm of the waltz.

Crowley swallowed. Aziraphale was even more of a vision this close, that blessed dress leaving all too little to the imagination and causing Crowley’s breathing to spike sharply just looking at her. “Are you sure?” She asked, her voice much less steady than she would have liked. 

“I’m sure.” Aziraphale gave her an odd look; almost concerned, almost nervous. “Are you quite sure you’re alright, though? You seem peaky.” 

“N-no, ‘m fine.” Crowley insisted, subtly wiping some of the alcohol from her system. She’d been nowhere near too sloshed to dance, but she doubted that the lowered inhibitions were going to be helpful with trying to keep her hands off Aziraphale. “Lead on, angel.”

That earned her a dizzyingly brilliant smile. Aziraphale tugged her from the barstool, barely waiting long enough for Crowley to drop a few notes onto the counter for her drinks before dragging her off through the crowd. 

Once they had arrived at the dance floor, they paused to look at each other a moment. They had danced together a few times throughout the years. Balls were an excellent place to exchange information without being seen together by Heaven or Hell, who avoided that kind of silly human thing whenever they got the chance. They had spoken in snippets as they danced with one another, or beside each other according to their current presentations and the customs of the culture they currently moved within, spinning in endless circles around the polished floors of elites much the same way they had spun in circles around each other throughout their lives.

This time, though, seemed different. Aziraphale was looking at her with that soft, open expression she took on whenever Crowley had given her some very special gift or done some very thoughtful deed. It nearly blinded Crowley, who had to swallow and look off to the side to keep from leaning forward towards her. 

“Do you want to lead, or shall I?” She asked.

Aziraphale looked thoughtful for a moment, as if considering which of a number of delicacies to sample first. “I think you should lead, tonight,” she said, eventually. 

Crowley nodded, swallowing again, desperately glad she was still wearing her sunglasses to hide the naked panic in her eyes. She carefully placed one of her hands at Aziraphale’s waist, resting it on silk that felt like water beneath her skin. The other hand she brought up to lace its fingers delicately through Aziraphale’s.

Slowly, they began to move. Neither of them had ever been particularly adept at dancing; after all, angels didn’t dance as a rule, and although demons _could_ dance most humans wouldn’t have described such dancing as “good.” This dance was old, though, and slow enough, and they stepped into it with the ease of beings that had been practising for centuries. Crowley stepped forward as Aziraphale drew her foot back. Both stepped to the left, forward again, to the right. The steps themselves didn’t require much attention and yet Crowley found that her entire world had narrowed down to the two of them, to the places they were touching, to the look in Aziraphale’s eyes. 

The dance continued on for an amount of time Crowley would not have been able to estimate for anything. It might have been a few minutes or might have taken them all the way to the inevitable heat-death of the universe, for all she’d been aware of the outside world. Eventually, though, she became aware that her feet were no longer moving.

The music had stopped, probably at its natural conclusion, though Crowley couldn’t remember a note. Her hands were still on Aziraphale, and the angel was looking up at her with a small smile tugging at her lips. 

“That was quite lovely, don’t you think?” Aziraphale said, sounding a little breathless. “Reminds me of a different time.”

Crowley hummed her assent, unable to resist returning Aziraphale’s soft smile. “It’s been a while since we danced together, hasn’t it? Or danced in the same place at the same time, I suppose.”

“1921. Berlin.” Aziraphale answered immediately, then colored slightly. “Though I’m not sure I’d call that dancing.”

“The style then would put kids these days to shame,” Crowley agreed. The fingers laced with Aziraphale’s twitched, just slightly. She was cognizant of the fact that it was past time to step away. The musicians were lining up for the next song and the other dancers had mostly swanned off, leaving the two of them standing there in the middle of the floor almost alone, the only ones still embracing. And yet, she couldn’t quite bring herself to let go. 

Aziraphale seemed to be of a similar mind. She still had one hand curled loosely at Crowley’s elbow, just held there delicately, which she didn’t seem to be in any rush to pull away. She was still looking at Crowley. More directly than she usually did, Crowley noticed. Normally she would look at Crowley the same way she would drink a cocktail at the Ritz: slow, sipping glances, never taking in the whole thing at one gulp. As though she couldn’t hold her gaze for more than a few seconds, though Crowley had never quite been sure why.

Now she was looking, though. _Really_ looking. Her blue eyes looked right into Crowley’s through her sunglasses, right into her soul, big and open and _happy_.

This time it was Crowley that had to look away. 

The band struck up another tune, slower this time. The more modern kind of dance that allowed for less space between its partners, that encouraged steps more akin to swaying in place than actually _dancing_. Another thing that even two entities with four god-given left feet could likely manage.

They didn’t say anything; they didn’t have to. 

Shaking fingers finally disentangled from each, other only to make their way elsewhere. Crowley let both hands snake around Aziraphale’s waist while Aziraphale looped her own around Crowley’s neck. Crowley had to suppress the shiver that ran through her as she brushed against the warm skin at Aziraphale’s back, a rather hysterical second spent in the absolute conviction that the warmth was actually the burn of some holy object, the retribution for touching her own forbidden fruit. The moment passed, though, and she was able to again find comfort in Aziraphale’s warm smile.

Crowley took a deep breath and returned the smile, carefully. She felt like she was on terribly dangerous ground, with Aziraphale right there, looking at her like that, dressed the way she was. She dug her fingernails into her own palms where they rested against Aziraphale’s back just to prevent her from doing something extremely stupid, like kiss her.

She took another deep breath, and started to move.

\------------------------

They danced the better part of the evening away. 

Crowley had tried to ask if Aziraphale wanted to go back to the humans at one point, considering that they were here for the conference in the first place, and not for the dancing. Aziraphale hadn’t. She’d said something about this evening only being a formality anyway, not a part of the actual conference, and that she doubted anyone was missing her.

Crowley had doubted that immensely, but said nothing. She hadn’t wanted to press her luck.

By the time the musicians had started to pack up their instruments and Crowley’s feet in her heels were starting to feel as though she’d been walking on consecrated ground all night, Crowley was at the end of her rope.

The orchestra had played song after song of slow, intimate music. They’d veered through the eras somewhat (a detail she and Aziraphale had caught, though of course the humans didn’t) but managed to hit on a few old favorites, and even some they could remember seeing performed at the hands of the composers themselves. It had driven Crowley _barmy_. Her hands barely strayed from the warm expanse of Aziraphale’s exposed back the whole time. The scent of her perfume was fixed permanently in Crowley’s nose, she was entirely convinced, the sight of her eyes pressed firmly into Crowley’s vision like an afterimage. 

Not that she was complaining, per se. 

Every moment had been an unspeakable kind of gift to Crowley. They had never felt themselves allowed to be so intimate, not even in the past year since they had been freed from the oversight of Heaven and Hell. It had been perfect.

It had also been a complete and bloody _nightmare_. Having Aziraphale right there, feeling so very right in her arms, wanting so very much to just lean down and _kiss_ her but knowing she couldn’t had been torture. It had been rapture. It had been the worst kind of bliss.

Crowley was both relieved and disappointed that it was over. She was following Aziraphale up to the room she’d booked for herself, listening idly to her happy chatter, trying (and failing) not to stare at the bare skin that was on display through the dress’ open back.

It took a few tries for Aziraphale to use the keycard she’d been given at the front desk, but she managed it without Crowley’s assistance after only a few seconds. It took all of Crowley’s rather meagre self-control not to just flop down onto the bed the moment she reached it. She didn’t, barely; there was no way she’d be comfortable sleeping in her dress[7] and makeup, immortal being with terrifying occult powers or no. Aziraphale was happy enough to give her the first leave of the bathroom so she changed into her dressing gown, a black silk number that flowed nearly to her knees for the angel’s sake.

It was nothing Aziraphale hadn’t seen before. Crowley had slept over at the bookshop, or had Aziraphale at her flat while she slept, a number of times over the past year. At first she’d thought it had been lingering fears over further retribution for their contributions in preventing the end of the world, especially when Aziraphale had opted to stay in her flat and read. Perhaps that had been part of it. 

Over time, though, it had become simply a part of their routine. Crowley slept, in her own bed or Aziraphale’s distressingly neglected one, and the angel would putter around and read or make herself busy some other way. It was a ritual Crowley had come to rely on. It also meant that when she stepped out in her night dress, Aziraphale merely smiled again and slipped into the bathroom behind her.

Crowley flopped down on the bed, burying her face in the mound of soft pillows at its head. She was _tired_. It had been a long day physically, what with being dragged all over town and a whole evening of dancing, and the amount of energy she’d poured into making sure she didn’t do something terribly foolish with Aziraphale hadn’t helped. She cuddled into the soft mattress and sighed.

A few minutes later, she heard the bathroom door open again accompanied by the soft pad of bare feet on carpet.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale’s voice was soft, tentative, as though she were afraid of disturbing Crowley while also trying to get her attention.

“What’s up, angel?” Crowley asked, tired voice muffled by the pillows. 

There was a strange, soft sound that Crowley couldn’t quite place, though she thought it might have been Aziraphale fiddling nervously with some kind of fabric. “I-I was wondering if you would mind me joining you, actually. I’m feeling quite a bit more fatigued than I thought I would, after today.”

Crowley frowned, more out of confusion than anything. In the whole of the year they’d spent in one another’s pockets, Aziraphale had never once slept, or at least not that Crowley’d been aware of. By the state of the bed in the bookshop Crowley doubted it was a pastime that she really ever attempted.

“Sure, angel, if you like. Are you sure you’re feeling alright, th--”

Her words died in her throat. She’d wriggled around to get a better look at Aziraphale, to make sure she was alright, and she had caught a glimpse of her night gown.

Crowley had thought her evening dress had been bad. 

That dress had _nothing_ on this.

It was actually of a rather similar design to the dress Aziraphale had been wearing most of the evening. A creamy silk slip clung tightly to Aziraphale’s figure, dripping over her hips and _barely_ skimming the tops of her thighs. More chiffon sat over it, a completely see-through babydoll cut threaded through with gold ribbon at the hems. 

Crowley realized she was staring, her jaw slack. Aziraphale was looking on with a concern bordering on alarm so she shook herself a little, trying to get words out, wishing more than anything she hadn’t left her sunglasses in the bathroom.

“Angel,” she asked, her voice a rasp, “where did you get that?”

Aziraphale blinked. “Get what? Oh, the night dress? The same place I got my evening dress, actually. Isn’t it lovely?” She did a little spin that caused the hem to ride a little further up the tops of her thighs, and Crowley sent out a number of directionless prayers of thanks that she currently had a set of genetalia that wouldn’t broadcast her sudden and desperate arousal all the way into space.

There was little she could do about her breathing, though, and the way she had to clench her hand into the sheets to keep herself from _pouncing_ on Aziraphale right then and there. “Yeah, angel, it looks--it looks good. Nice one.” 

“Are you alright, my dear? You sound a little strained.”

Crowley’s hand clenched a fraction tighter. “Yep, nope, perfectly fine! Just, er, quite tired, that’s all. Knackered. Er--long day, you know.”

“It has been, rather,” Aziraphale agreed. “So it’s still alright if I...?” She gestured towards the unoccupied side of the bed next to Crowley.

“Yeah, ‘course. It’s your room. I mean, you’re more than welcome.” Crowley clamped her mouth shut. 

“If you’re sure,” Aziraphale said, though she still sounded a little uncertain. She climbed beneath the duvet, the bed dipping gently beneath her weight, and settled herself comfortably. After a few highly hesitant moments, Crowley did the same from where she was still sprawled out over the covers. Aziraphale looked over to her, still smiling warmly. “Good night, my dear.”

Crowley waved an idle hand and caused all the light in the room to dim, then blink out. “Good night, angel.”

She laid there in darkness and silence. Sleep was going to elude her entirely, she could already tell. Every part of her was hyper-aware of Aziraphale next to her in the bed. She catalogued the sounds of Aziraphale’s quiet breathing, the feeling of almost-warmth from their legs not-quite touching beneath the covers. Every minute movement, from Aziraphale’s small adjustments of position to her own jittery shaking, was amplified to an earthquake in Crowley’s mind.

It had only been about ten minutes when Aziraphale spoke again. “Crowley?”

“Yeah?” Crowley answered, not bothering to try and hide the fact that she was awake. She knew Aziraphale must be able to hear her breathing the same way she could hear hers. 

“Do you know what I realized about this place?”

In the dark, Crowley’s eyebrows climbed to her hairline. “No. What is it?”

“Well, I realized that the hotel was going to be rather close to the Bastille, or whatever they replaced it with--the Palace de la Bastille? No, that’s not right...”

Crowley was barely listening. Aziraphale had stirred slightly as she rambled, and a tiny sliver of her calf was now pressed alongside Crowley, the warmth of it blazing. 

“Hmph. Anyway, I looked at a map and tried to recall exactly where that delightful crêperie was that we went to after all that nasty guillotine business. And I realized that it was, well, here.”

“Here like _right_ here?” Crowley asked, blinking.

A quiet shifting of fabric that indicated Aziraphale was nodding. “This very building. Probably around where the ballroom is now, actually.”

Crowley digested that for a moment. There had been something special about that moment in the Bastille. Some subtle shift in their relationship from what it had been before, some difference she had never been quite able to place. It hadn’t been the first time she’d shown up in the angel’s presence without previous correspondence. It wasn’t even the first time she had sensed Aziraphale in some scrape or another and come running. But it had been the first time that Crowley had gotten the sense that the angel had done it on _purpose_ , just to seek her company.

It had been the first time she had asked for _more_ , without saying anything at all.

Crowley clicked her fingers suddenly, almost unconscious of having done so, and the lamps on either side of the bed lit up.

“What--” Aziraphale started, blinking in the sudden glow, but stopped when she saw the look on Crowley’s face.

“When did that happen, Aziraphale?” Crowley asked, so quiet it was almost swallowed by the hush of the room. “When did you realize where we were?”

Aziraphale looked down, away from her piercing gaze. “Oh, I don’t know.” She was obviously trying for airy, but missing by a mile. “A few weeks ago, perhaps. I thought that--it didn’t seem important at the time.”

A few weeks. A few _weeks_. The whole time she had been wheedling Crowley to come with her. The whole time after she’d agreed, the two of them spending time together in the shop, the park, the Ritz. The whole time they’d gone shopping here in Paris. The dancing.

The _dress_.

There were a million and one thoughts spinning through Crowley’s head, and she couldn’t quite seem to grasp at any one of them. There was something going on here, something she was _missing_ , some piece of information that would make all of this make sense if she could just _find_ it--

Aziraphale touched her arm, silently, and Crowley snapped back to reality. She realized with a rush of something like vertigo that she was looking down at Aziraphale now, though she couldn’t recall when exactly she’d sat up. Aziraphale was looking at her with a complicated expression on her face, almost pained.

“I thought you’d realize,” she said, quietly. “You’ve always found your way around so easily no matter where you are. I thought you might...well.”

Crowley wasn’t going to let her get away with that bitten-off statement, not right now. She could feel that they were right on the edge of some kind of precipice, one word away from from a freefall, and she wasn’t going to back away from the edge again. Not tonight.

“What did you think I might, angel?” Aziraphale was still having a hard time looking her sqaure in the eyes. Daringly, she reached out a hand to touch lightly at Aziraphale’s chin, gently encouraging her to look up at her, trading the vulnerability of her own eyes for the gift of Aziraphale’s. “Tell me. Please.”

Aziraphale swallowed. When she spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper. “I thought...I thought you’d kiss me.”

Crowley’s heart was beating so quickly in her chest she could hear the blood rushing in her ears, but she ignored it. “And did you...want that?”

Aziraphale gave a minute movement that might have been a nod and might have been just a twitch of the head.

“No, angel, you have to tell me. I swear, no matter what your answer is I won’t be angry, I won’t--I’ll still be here. Just _please_ ,” her voice broke a little and she realized there were tears welling up in her eyes, inexplicably, “please just _tell me_.” 

Aziraphale was still looking up at her, eyes wide. She looked as though she were about to start crying, too, or about to bolt. Miraculously, however, she held firm. “I...I wanted you to. T-to kiss me.”

That was enough for Crowley. She gave into the instinct she’d been fighting back all night and dove forward, accidentally crashing their lips together rather more forcefully than she’d intended. Aziraphale didn’t seem to mind. She moaned heartily into Crowley’s mouth, parting her lips sweetly to let Crowley’s tongue inside. She looped her arms around Crowley’s neck just as she had done during their dance and tugged at her until Crowley was pressed flush to her, braced somewhat awkwardly half on her and half on the mattress beside her.

Aziraphale kissed her with enough unbridled passion to clear many of Crowley’s immediate insecurities--that she didn’t want Crowley as much as Crowley wanted her, that there had been some sort of misunderstanding, that the wine she’d consumed hours before was somehow still clouding her mind. The more lofty insecurities remained, but they weren’t important right now. What was important was Aziraphale’s warmth beneath her, Aziraphale’s lips pressed to her own.

They stayed like that for minutes, or maybe hours, before breaking apart. Every time one pulled back to say something the other would dive after them, swallowing their words, stealing their breath. Every time the other was more than happy to give it away.

Finally, though, Crowley did manage to pull back long enough to take in a great lungful of air, gazing down on the fresh wonder that was Aziraphale, face flushed and mouth bruised-looking, pink and gold and perfect. Still in her arms where she belonged.

It took every shred of Crowley’s self-control not to just dive back down again, but her corporation really was starting to complain about the lack of oxygen. She didn’t technically _need_ it, but habits like breathing were hard to break. Even for them. Instead, she said, panting, “Is there even a rare books conference, angel, or was that all part of your ruse?”

Aziraphale looked vaguely affronted. “Of course there was,” she said, vehemently, then turned a tad sheepish. “I--er--might have had a bit of a hand in determining the location, though.”

Crowley kissed her again. The next time they parted, some unknown time later, it was Aziraphale’s doing. 

“Darling,” she panted, her fingers tugging lightly at the russet curls they had slipped into at some point, “darling I don’t suppose you’d--that is, could we--?”

Crowley pulled back fully to peer at her, make sure Azirapahle was asking for what she thought she was. “Are you sure?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Aziraphale said, immediately, making Crowley chuckle.

Crowley gave her a quick peck on the lips, pulling back before either of them could give into the desire to deepen it once again, then laid one on her chin, her collarbone. “What do you want?”

Those fingers in her hair tightened again, the sting sharper this time. “I want you.”

“No, angel, we’ve been over this.” Crowley shifted up until she was poised completely over Aziraphale, braced on her arms and gazing down. “I’ll do anything you want, anything at all that you like. But you have to _tell_ me.”

Aziraphale worried at her already flushed lips for a moment, working through her obvious hesitation. Eventually, with not a little effort, she said, “I’d like for...I want you make love to me, Crowley.”

“Oh, angel,” Crowley breathed, “that I can most definitely do.” She kissed her way down Aziraphale’s body slowly, wetting that blessed nightgown right through to the silk just because it made Aziraphale squirm. She felt like a starving man sat suddenly down at a feast. Her hands were everywhere; up and down Aziraphale’s sides, over her gorgeous thighs, all the way down to her feet and back up again. Everywhere except where her lover very obviously wanted them, if her little shifting wiggles and quiet gasps were anything to go by. 

Once she felt she had teased Aziraphale enough [8], Crowley finally let her fingers toy with the edge of Aziraphale’s nightgown, dipping just underneath and carefully pushing the frill further up her thighs. She hissed slightly when she encountered the knickers Aziraphale had chosen--off-white silk with a gold bow, to match the night dress. “I’m starting to feel like the caught one here, beautiful,” Crowley said, grinning up at her, “Now I know there’s no way you weren’t planning on this.”

“Planned might be a strong word,” Aziraphale responded. She was still breathless and gazing down at Crowley, eyes wide. “Hoped, maybe.”

Crowley huffed a laugh that ghosted right over Aziraphale’s warmth, enjoying the shiver the sensation sent through the angel. Slowly, carefully, Crowley slipped her fingers beneath the waistband of the delicate silk and dragged it down, encouraging Aziraphale to lift her hips so Crowley could get the knickers down and off.

Once they were gone, she was gifted with the sight of the angel in just her nightgown, legs pressed demurely together and a sweet blush on her face. “Don’t get all shy on me now, Aziraphale,” she drawled, but she shifted up the bed to lay a gentle kiss to her cheek rather than press further. “Not having second thoughts, are we?”

“N-no,” Aziraphale stammared slightly, an adorably resolute expression on her face. “No, just...give me a moment, will you?”

“Of course.” Crowley gave in easily when Aziraphale dragged her up for another kiss, languid and easy and unhurried. She stroked soothingly down her arms, rubbed gentle circles over her jaw with her thumb, not moving to venture further while Aziraphale adjusted. Aziraphale did relax by degrees beneath her, body going from tense to slack like a taut bow being slowly and lovingly unstrung.

Eventually, Aziraphale found her eyes with her own again. “I’m ready.”

“Are you sure? We don’t have to, you know.” They didn’t. Crowley burned and burned for the wanting of her, but she’d rather burn away entirely than make her uncomfortable in this.

Aziraphale smiled up at her, soft and fond. “I’m sure, my dear. Just a little...overwhelmed, I think.”

“It’s been a long time in the making,” Crowley dared. Her heart stuck in her throat.

Aziraphale, though, just smiled even wider. “That it has, my love.”

“Ngk,” Crowley responded, not entirely prepared for that address quite yet. “Right. Yes. C-can I--?” She looked back down towards the hem of Aziraphale’s nightgown, where a peek of gold curls was barely, tantalisingly visible over the soft curve of her stomach.

“Oh.” Aziraphale flushed up again. “Er, yes, please.”

Crowley huffed a laugh at Aziraphale’s bashfullness. She slithered her way down the bed once again, trailing soft fingertips down the length of her angel’s body just to tease. This time, Aziraphale parted her thighs at Crowley’s soft touch with little more than a quick breath, and Crowley groaned deep in her throat.

“Above and Below, angel, you’re _gorgeous_ ,” she said, nearly shaking with her desire now. 

Aziraphale’s flush could hardly have been any deeper. Her hands were fisted in the sheets at her sides, gripping tightly already, and Crowley hadn’t even gotten started yet. “I-if you say so, my dear.”

“Oh, I do,” Crowley purred. After taking a few moments to just _look_ at her angel, both for her own enjoyment and to give her the chance to change her mind before things really took off, Crowley lowered herself down until she could get a little more up close and permanent. Gentle hands encouraged Aziraphale to put her legs up on Crowley’s shoulder, thighs on either side of her ears, giving Crowley a much better angle to work with.

Aziraphale let out a breathless sort of noise as Crowley gently nosed around her outer lips, teasing again. Crowley flicked her tongue out, snake-quick, and moaned at the taste of her, warm and salty and sweet. She was already rapidly losing the will to draw this out. Aziraphale’s hand came down to grip in her hair, her breathy moans and sweet whimpers driving Crowley deeper to try and chase out more. 

Her long tongue drew a line up from the very bottom of Aziraphale’s cunt to just barely flicker around her clit and Aziraphale shuddered, tightening her grip in Crowley’s curls. At the sound of it, Crowley gave up all pretense of teasing. She pressed closer and licked right around the clit once, again, using the dexterity of her serpent’s tongue to its full effect in her campaign to make her angel sing.

And sing she did. Aziraphale moaned and whined and cried out like the sweetest music Crowley had ever heard. After some initial timidness she seemed to grow bolder, pressing down with her limited range of motion to grind against Crowley’s face, obviously trying to encourage her to dip her tongue inside. After only a little while of enjoying the vision that was her unabashedly hedonistic angel, Crowley gave her what she wanted. 

Aziraphale threw her head back and _writhed_ as Crowley let her tongue unfurl within her, pressing teasingly against her inner walls, finding all the little spots that made her whine deep in her throat. The thatch of curls at her mound tickled at Crowley’s nose where it was pressed up against her clit, but Crowley didn’t mind; the sweet, clean smell of her angel was driving her absolutely out of her mind.

She wasn’t the only one. Aziraphale’s breaths were speeding up, harsh and nearly frantic in the quiet of the room, her squirming getting to the point where the hands clamped around her thighs were all that was keeping her in place. The tugging at Crowley’s scalp grew to just the right side of pain and she moaned.

“Oh,” Aziraphale managed, the closest to anything like a real word she’d managed since Crowley’d started. “Oh--Crowley, that’s--please, Crowley, darling, I can’t--”

Crowley tightened her grip even further and redoubled her efforts, thrusting her tongue viciously into Aziraphale’s wet warmth and her sharp nose against Aziraphale’s swollen clit. Azirapahle babbled for a few more moments before she arched up, giving out a sharp, wordless cry, nearly dislodging Crowley with the force of it.

Crowley persisted though, savouring the clenching muscles she could feel against her tongue, the wetness that had long ago coated her chin. She kept up her movements until Aziraphale collapsed back onto the bed, mouth slack and starry eyes turned towards the ceiling.

“You alright there, angel?” Crowley asked, softly, wiping at her chin with her arm.

Aziraphale’s first response was a somewhat hysterical laugh, but she did look down at Crowley after a moment and smile. “Quite alright, my love. Just lovely. Tickety-boo.” 

There was a hazy, dreamlike quality to her speech that made Crowley chuckle. Her own need was calling to her from between her legs but she ignored it for now, instead climbing up to bring their lips together once again.

Aziraphale made a surprised little noise at the taste of herself on Crowley’s tongue but didn’t pull back. Crowley pushed her gently back to the mattress, snogging her senseless, just reveling in the fact that she was now free to do so without fear. 

She didn’t realize that she’d been rubbing herself ineffectually against Aziraphale’s thigh until the angel pulled back from the kiss. “Oh, you haven’t--I’m terribly sorry dear, I got a bit...wrapped up in things there.”

“Don’t worry about it, angel,” Crowley said, but Aziraphale tutted.

“Nonsense. Budge up a moment.” 

Crowley did, somewhat reluctantly, and Aziraphale shimmied up the bed a bit until she was more propped against the headboard.

Aziraphale motioned for Crowley to scoot closer again. “There now,” she sighed as she guided Crowley to straddle one of her thighs with hands at her bony hips. “That should be a little bit better now, hmm?”

It was. Crowley ground down unashamedly against the plushness of the angel beneath her, the new angle allowing her to get the sweet friction against her clit. She tried to lean down to kiss Aziraphale again but the angel stopped her. “I’d like to see, if that’s alright. I’ve been waiting so long...”

Crowley groaned. “Yes--yeah, angel, ‘course, anything.” She sped up the movement of her hips, aware that her own silk knickers would be utterly ruined at the end of all this but far beyond caring. 

Aziraphale was barely touching her and yet every moment felt electric, her sharp eyes on Crowley’s hips more like a caress than anything Crowley had ever known. She kept up a whispered litany of soft praise and encouragement that spiked through Crowley, driving her forwards, pushing her higher and higher just as much if not more than the sweet pressure against her aching cunt.

It didn’t take long for her orgasm to hit her. It crested over her like a crashing wave, carrying her away with the force of it, pushing her out with the tide. When she came back down she was in Aziraphale’s arms. 

“That was wonderful,” Aziraphale whispered, stroking down the silk still clinging to Crowley’s back. “You’ve always been beautiful, but that was...well. Thank you.”

Crowley huffed a tired laugh. “You’re thanking me for having an orgasm?”

“I’m thanking you for sharing it with me.”

Crowley huffed again, but smiled into her shoulder. “Whatever, angel.”

A few moments passed in sated, companionable silence, the motions of Aziraphale’s hand against her back making Crowley’s eyelids droop even further.

“Are you going to sleep, dearest?” came Aziraphale’s quiet voice.

Crowley hummed. “Keep doing that and I jusss might,” Crowley said, “Why?”

“Oh, nothing. Only I had hoped somewhat that we might...continue?”

Crowley rolled her head around until she could peer up at Aziraphale, blearily. “Really?”

Aziraphale looked a little sheepish. “Well, yes, actually. I mean, I haven’t even had the pleasure of getting you out of your night dress...” She tugged at the hem of the dress in question, just to emphasize her point.

“I’ve created a monster, haven’t I?” Crowley grumbled, but she was already covering Aziraphale’s hand with her own, encouraging her to draw the silk further up her thigh.”

Aziraphale beamed. “I’m sure I don’t know about that, my dear.”

Crowley kissed her again, and didn’t stop kissing her for a very, _very_ long time.

1 Which she wasn’t. [return to text]

2 Which Crowley always carefully cleared for her, naturally. [return to text]

3 This had been Crowley’s first tip-off that something was off. Aziraphale _hated_ talking to strangers on any form of long-term transportation, because they would inevitably be interrupting her reading. [return to text]

4 Utterly and completely distinct from anything that might be described as _tweeting_ , which Crowley wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed about, considering. [return to text]

5 Which, considering that she was an immortal being of nearly infinite alcohol tolerance and persuasion skills when she put her mind to it, was quite a few. [return to text]

6 And also because she was nothing if not a glutton for punishment. [return to text]

7 Which, it should be noted, was equally if not more scandalous than Aziraphale’s was.[return to text]

8 For now.[return to text]


End file.
